Apologize
by LisaRom122
Summary: House does ask Cuddy for forgiveness. Plays after 6.11 Remorse.


_Story is set somewhere between Remorse and 5 to 9. I always felt that something must have happened between the anger in their relationship in the first half of the season and the odd camaraderie and sexual innuendo in the second half. This is my go at it. Enjoy._

_Rated M. Contains sexual content._

She is mad. Furious, even. He had asked her to stop by his apartment after work, and for the hundredth time she is following his request against her better judgement. It is not like she has a lot of time on her hands, and she told him that. Lukas is waiting at home, looking after her child. She had lied to Lukas, telling him she would be running late, again, because a Doctor - not House - had been sued for malpractice, and she needed to go over the necessary paperwork.

Pulling into a parking lot in front of his apartment complex, she braces herself for a moment, both against the cold outside and against whatever she would have to face inside his rooms. He had been tight lipped about what it was concerning, and dismissed her suggestions to just meet her in an exam room or a coffee shop close by. "Too sterile. Too impersonal."

She did not want to get personal, though. He had irritated her lately, beyond measure. It had been fun a while ago and when she was honest with herself, she had to admit the she always got a little kick out of his distaste for her relationships, his passionate, sometimes insane jealousy. Lately, it was less fun, though, spiked with numerous moments of bitterness. She was determined, more than ever, to tell him to stop, to draw her line more closely around her; with a permanent marker. If he did not respect her boundaries, she would even call their relationship quits altogether.

She steps out into the night, the cold encompassing her, and she tries to sink deeper into her coat. Her high heels are really inapt for this weather, and she curses under her breath as she briefly looses her balance on a slippery patch of ice, just managing to keep her equilibrium.

Taking a deep breath in front of his door, she knocks, hoping to sound determined. He opens up, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, as well as a genuine and relaxed expression. He steps aside to let her in. "Hey. Thanks for coming."

She busts inside, unfazed by his civility. "What's so important that you couldn't tell me at work or over the phone?" She tries to sound annoyed, tries to make a point straight away: She does not want to be here and he better makes this quick. She is done playing games with him.

"Your manners kinda went down the drain since the child. See that, _child_ and _drain_ \- I put them semantically close for a purpose, in case you missed it." She gives him an appalled look. "Is this you compensating for all the time you have to bite your tongue around the kid?"

"No, this is me in response to your energy draining shenanigans. I'm sure you noted the proximity between _you_ and _draining_. You've got ten minutes," she says, looking at her watch. "Go." She is still pissed and determined, at least that is what she hopes to convey.

"Can I at least take your coat for those ten minutes?" he asks, too softly for her liking.

"House, I really need to get home. Go ahead and shoot."

He actually looks taken aback by her steeliness, his eyes lowering to the ground, his body and mind visually retreating. "Look, if this isn't a good time, maybe we should postpone. It's actually not that urgent," he mumbles, his voice low and defeated.

She staggers momentarily, not having expected his rapid surrender. Usually when she fires, House fires back, sharper and with more momentum. Softening slightly, she unzips her coat but keeps it on as she sits down on his couch. "I came all the way out here. Might as well know why." She looks at him expectantly, her eyebrows raised.

He swallows, still hesitant. "Actually, I wanted to apologize."

Her eyebrows raise another notch. He sounds like he means it, but seems insincere at the same time. She waits for more to come, but he just stands there, looking at the floor. The hollowness of the statement alone adds to her suspicions. "For what, exactly? Is there something I should know?"

"Nope, I think I provided a sea of plenty."

"And you want me to just… pick one?"

He sighs. "Look, I'm not very good at this. We're supposed to practice humility and commiseration, which, apparently, tug along sympathy and regret. Wilson pointed out that you should be a candidate on my list of people I should ask for forgiveness, so here we are. He has this idiotic idea that you were in love with me, which obviously I don't share since I'm not an idiot, but if I did hurt your feelings at some or several occasions, I'm sorry."

"Huh," she scuffs. She would laugh if she was not so angry. "You're right, you do suck at this. And you're an idiot. And a jerk." She gets up off the couch, ready to leave.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, back off a second here, I was sincerely trying to apologize," he sounds upset now, walking after her.

She turns swiftly, anger emanating from her. "Oh yeah? You ask me to come over, tell me some sad story about your recovery, and bullshit me on being sorry - about something you don't even know about? Do you have any idea what it means to feel sorry for someone, House?"

He stands there, saying nothing.

"It means to actually feel what the other person felt. What it must be like to drive, for three hours, to a mock Thanksgiving Dinner. What it must be like to drive all the way back, especially with a bad leg. Do you know how awful I felt, thinking of you standing there, the moment you realized I'd misled you? I kept looking at the clock, mentally more with you than with anyone at the table. All afternoon I tried reminding myself of the million times you stood me up, the million times you dismissed me, and I tried to convince myself you deserved it, knowing that you had been up to no good, but I couldn't stop feeling like shit." She is in his face now, her eyes on fire. "You're an ass, House. You were just trying to get more information from me. Not knowing if I loved you," she scoffs, mocking him. "Try harder next time. I'm sure Wilson can help you come up with something you actually regret." She turns around again, ready to leave.

He waits a beat, but speaks up when she reaches the door handle. "Well, since this is about you and you're obviously such an expert at this, maybe _you_ should help me. What should I feel sorry about?"

"You can't be serious," she spits, turning around.

"When have I let you down?" His eyes bore into hers, displaying genuine curiosity.

She rolls her eyes. He cannot seriously not know. "How about when you tried manipulating my boyfriend into breaking up with me? Or the time I asked you to come to Rachel's simchat bat and you didn't show? Or when you decided to spend time with a hooker rather than me." He raises his eyebrows at the last one, unaware and slightly incredulous at the allegation. She notices her accusations are weakening, so she thinks harder and comes up with a severe one, one from a few years back. "You told me, to my face, that my miscarriage was for the better," she is almost yelling now, desperately trying to keep control of her body, to keep breathing.

"Touché," he mumbles, looking hesitant and considerate.

His admission takes some of her steam off. _This isn't like him_, she thinks, feeling a bit off balance. Why is his reticence eating away her equilibrium? She had been so determined coming here. Ready to run. She waits another beat. "I should get going," she says, her voice tired.

Again, he stops her. "I think I have a few minutes left," he states, looking at his wrist, his watch missing. He shrugs. "Especially considering that _you_ actually did most of the talking."

"House," she sighs, desperation, defeat, doubt, and insecurity all mixed in her voice.

He slowly walks over to the piano and sits down, opening the lid. She has never heard him play before, and is surprised by the gesture. The song he starts playing sounds melancholy, a grave but beautiful melody she does not recognize. While he is still playing, he starts to talk. "I composed this." He pauses in between his words, giving the impression that his words are accompanying the notes. "For Rachel." Or is it the other way around? "The night of the ceremony." The melody starts to repeat, sounding more upbeat now. "I _was_ thinking of you. I just thought…" He plays some more, searching for words, "…the party would be more joyous without me."

She swallows, making her way back to the couch. One reason is that from here, she can hear his words better. The other is that standing up has become difficult. She is so tired, weariness pulling on her.

"For all else, I have no real excuse", he continues the comforting tune. "Or anything that might make you feel better." He shakes his head slightly. Then he stops abruptly, turning to face her. "I didn't mean what I said about your miscarriage. I though you knew that. I was angry and in pain, lashing out at you." He pauses, letting this sink in. "You're a great mother. I think I did tell you that, at some point. Rachel is lucky to have you."

She sits there speechless, noticing that tears are running down her face. When had it gotten this far? How did he know so perfectly where to strike? Because this is what it feels like, as if he has landed another blow, although she had arrived in shining armor. This did not make anything better, or easier.

He gets up and starts walking toward her. "Cuddy," he sighs.

"No," she barks, getting up, wiping at her tears. She decides to go back to angry again - angry was easier. "Stop this. You're still playing your petty little games."

"If by games you mean…" he tries to quip, but she cuts him off.

"When I am dating, you show up everywhere, you're in my face all the time; you're sensitive, caring, acting like you're jealous. When I'm not dating, you cannot get me far enough away. The closer I get, the more you act out. You told me, to my face, that you didn't want a relationship with me. Now that I'm _in_ a relationship, you tell my boyfriend _you love me_," she says with eyebrows raised, incredulous. "I'm not one of your rubber bands, House. You want me to break up with Lukas so you can start abusing me again?"

She finds herself in front of him, hears that she has been yelling. Her anger rushes through her like fire; somehow she cannot stop crying.

"Screw you, House," she hisses, putting emphasis to her words by actually shoving him on the shoulder.

It takes him off guard, and he stumbles backwards, just managing to keep himself up with his cane. "Wow. Didn't see that coming."

She takes another step toward him. "Oh yeah? Then how about this?" She clenches her left fist and hurls it in the direction of his jaw. This he does see coming in time, alarmed by her previous outburst. He pulls back his head quickly and catches her punch with his left hand. He drops his cane and swirls her around with his right, pressing her back up against his chest, one of her arms tugged beneath the other, blocking her mobility. "Let me go," she commands, struggling against her confinement.

"And risk getting my ass kicked?" His breath is hot and heavy in her ear. "I do have handicapped parking access, if I may remind you. And your yoga classes are obviously paying off."

"Fuck you, House. Get the hell off me." She keeps fighting, so he tightens his grip, one hand wrapped around her wrist, the other pressing into her hip, his arm wrapped around her lower body.

He notices that during all of this struggling, her blouse has come loose from her skirt, now resting over his hand. On an impulse, he moves this hand slightly upwards over the waistband of her skirt, his thumb brushing over her naked skin there.

"House," she gasps, and draws in a sharp breath. Her struggling stops abruptly as a shiver runs through her spine. This he picks up, of course. He continues to lightly stroke her with his thumb, his arms relaxing a little bit. She swallows hard, momentarily paralyzed, which he interprets as acquiescence. "Fuck you," she repeats, though with less resolution in her voice.

He is afraid that if he lets go of her, he will break the spell, so he keeps her tucked in his arms. He lets go of her wrist, though, moving his hand over hers, his thumb grazing her palm. She could go now, he thinks. If she really wanted to, she could free herself from his embrace and stomp out of his apartment.

When she stays put, he becomes bolder, greedier, and moves his right hand up further, spanning her ribcage. She inhales sharply, turning her head sideways. "House."

He loves all the different meanings this word carries, everything she can convey by just saying his name. This one is a mixture of so many things, but he focuses on the two that lead him to his next move: He tilts her chin up and kisses her. Longing and guilt.

She turns in his arms and kisses him back fiercely. Then everything happens quickly, as if she were in a race. She acts as if she knows that if she stops for one second to think, her mind will catch up with her and retain her. He manages to undo some of the lower buttons on her blouse while she shrugs out of her coat and blazer, throwing them on the couch. She steps out of her high heels, pulls down her panties and stockings from beneath her skirt. She waits for him by the couch. slightly bent forward over the cushions, raising the hem of her skirt. "Fuck me, House."

He hesitates. She is offering her body to him, but this is not what he wants, really. He wants her, all of her, not the guilty-because-cheating-on-her-boyfriend version.

"House, if you're not over here in five seconds, I'll be gone in three."

He cannot let her go like this. This is what he had been longing for all this time. He might never get this chance again, especially if he refuses her now. It is not everything he wants, but he probably never will have that, so he settles for what he can get.

As he moves over to her, he decides that he does not have to play entirely by her book, though. Instead of claiming her roughly, he takes his time to gently stroke her legs, slowly moving up on her outer thighs, then down the inside.

"House, please," she begs, her breath quickening. She is bending over fully now, her hands on the backrest of the couch.

"Tell me how badly you want this," he mutters, his hands moving up tantalizingly slow, his fingers moving towards her center while pushing up her skirt at the same time, but he does not touch her where she wants him most. She spreads her legs wider.

"Very," she presses out as his hands move to her butt, slightly massaging her.

"God I love your ass," he says, and she hums in response.

"House," she pleads again, and he complies by tracing a finger over her clit. She gasps.

"You're so wet," he sounds pleased as he rubs her a little, finally moving one finger inside of her.

"Oh God," she moans. Her legs start to tremble and she has to concentrate to stay up on her feet. "Please, House…" Want and arousal.

"Tell me what you want," he demands, as he slowly slides his finger in and out of her.

"You. Inside me. Now." She slightly rocks her hips on his finger.

"You think of me when he's inside of you?"

"No," she throws over her shoulder, indignant.

He pulls out his finger, knowing it will drive her insane. "Tell me," he asks gently, his other hand still caressing her thigh.

She breathes a bit, then quietly says: "Yes", she swallows, "sometimes."

His hands leave her body briefly to pull down his pants and boxers. Still making her wait, though, he takes his time to push up her blouse, grazing the bare skin on her back, and unhooks her bra. One hand travels to her abdomen, the other goes up to caress her breasts, pinch her nipples. She shudders again, spreading her legs even wider, her breath heavy. "House." Frustration and desire.

He plants both hands on the backs of her thighs, slowly moving up, lifting her skirt all the way. He sneaks one arm around her waist to steady her, and finally slides his penis inside her with one swift motion.

"God," she exhales through gritted teeth.

He pulls almost completely out again, mobilizing all of his self-control to make her wait. She tries to move backwards, but he keeps her hips in place, making her grunt in frustration. Pulling down the collar of her blouse, he bends over her, sinking his teeth in the flesh on her shoulder. "I remember you like it rough," he mutters into her ear as he traces his fingers through her hair. He pulls it back, rough but not violent, whilst pushing all the way back inside her.

To his surprise, this is it for her already. She gasps again and he feels her convulsing around him, wave after wave of her orgasm rippling through her. He holds her tight, carrying most of her weight as she comes. He pushes her limp body forward, slipping out of her as she kneels on the couch. She seems weary and lost to the world, so he guides her to lie down on the couch, removing the remainder of her clothes in the making. He wants her naked on his couch.

She lies on her back, her eyes closed, and he presses up next to her, draping half of his body over her to keep her warm. He feels like a child that refuses to let go off the lollipop his parents have told him to put down three times already. He kisses her chest, her face, traces her collarbone with his tongue. Any moment he expects her to come to her senses, to jump off his couch filled with regret, to rush out of his apartment. His fingers graze the underside of her breast - so soft - count her ribs, circle her navel.

She shudders again, slowly opening her eyes to look at him. He holds his breath, drowning in the bright blue he sees there. One of her hands reaches up to his neck, probably to strangle him or… "House," she whispers again, pulling him down to meet her lips. Surrender? Love? The kiss is contrary to their fierceness from before, so sweet and gentle. She moves her hands under his t-shirt, stroking his back, her mouth never leaving his. They make out tenderly and he rubs his body against her, his penis still partly erect. He cannot believe his luck as she begins to move her right leg against him making room for him so he can clamber in between her legs. She is opening up to him. Again.

He penetrates her gently this time, holding up a slow and even pace. "You feel so good," he whispers in her ear, nibbling her earlobe, kissing his way down her neck and shoulder. Her legs move around his waist, giving him a better angle, allowing him more access. She hums approvingly, pulling his mouth back on hers, her tongue pushing inside. He feels her getting closer, so he speeds up the pace, hoping he can last long enough. Three strokes later she tells him she is about to come, so he quits thinking of old, wrinkly grandmas and lets go.

He comes back to earth breathing heavily, lying on top of her, still inside her. He slowly lifts off to look at her, and finally sees what he had expected already ten minutes ago: Guilt rushing into her eyes. She covers her face with one hand. "Oh God," she exclaims, still breathing hard herself, and he can feel her thinking. "I have to go."

He moves off of her, knowing that any form of protest will fall flat. She gets up quickly, picking up her clothes. "I have to shower," she thinks aloud, "he is gonna smell you on me."

She stumbles into his bathroom with her clothes and her purse. He hears her using the toilet and then the water running. He goes after her, spotting her clothes in a heap on the toilet seat. "I think we should talk. About this." She has put up her hair - she seems to have a secret stash of those hair ties somewhere - and is crouched down in his tub, holding the shower head with one hand and trying to rub her skin with the other.

"How about some privacy?" she looks at him, incredulous.

"I was just _inside_ of you," he states, matter-of-factly. "How much more private can we get?"

She scoffs, unable to come up with a good retort.

"You're not going to tell Lukas?"

"No," she blurts out. "Yes. Maybe. He's probably going to find out anyway. Or you are going to tell him."

"I won't if you won't."

She looks at him skeptically. "Like you can keep your mouth shut about _scoring it with me_," she mockingly mimics him on this last part. "You'll tell Wilson the minute you step into his apartment."

"You're right, that does sound like me. I might send him the secret sex vid I made while I'm on my way to him."

She shoots him a disgusted look.

"Oops, just gave myself away, didn't I. I'm such a chatterbox."

She drops the topic, not getting anywhere. "Whatever happened to your shower curtain?" she asks as she gets up and he hands her a towel.

He shrugs. "I don' t need it, I'm more the bathing type of guy. And hookers prefer their own bathrooms."

She steps closer to him, looking sympathetic. "Can you keep this to yourself?" she asks, serious now. "Just until I've decided what I'm gonna do with Lukas?"

He waits a beat, looks at her. Then he nods.

"Thank you."

He leaves the bathroom so she can get dressed in solitude. When she comes out, she looks as good as new. Amazing. Stepping into her shoes, he gets up to hold her coat for her, helping her inside.

"Thanks," she says, turning around.

He is at a loss of words. _This is Cuddy_, he thinks. "Are we okay?" is all he comes up with.

She sighs, looking at him with an expression he cannot decipher. "Of course," she just says and nods. Rising up onto her toes, she kisses him on the cheek, then turns to leave. "I'll see you tomorrow," she throws over her shoulder, her voice gentle.

"Yeah."

And then she is gone.


End file.
